


People say friends don't destroy one another

by Slappersonly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 19:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slappersonly/pseuds/Slappersonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty doesn't like being left out of the loop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	People say friends don't destroy one another

Working for Jim Moriarty isn't easy, even when you're as close to him as Sebastian Moran is. It doesn't spare him from the threat of death; if anything, it adds more pressure.

Seb dreads seeing his friend. He rings the buzzer up to Jim's flat with a heavy feeling of impending doom, and as soon as the door is opened he is struck across the face. It's an open palmed slap, designed to hurt, not damage, and his cheek burns with the sharp sting of a leather glove. He reels backwards with the blow, only to be quickly pulled back into the flat. Instinctively he grapples with Jim for a moment, his fingers bunching in the smooth, expensive material of his suit before his training kicks in, and he lets go.

Jim throws him across the flat and Seb staggers a little before dropping to his knees, head bowed. His heart is racing and, already, his cock is beginning to swell in his trousers. Jim rounds on him, standing entirely too close. His dark eyes are wide, bright with psychosis, and he carefully tilts Seb's chin up with a leather bound finger.

“Oh, you _are_ in trouble,” he purrs, and Seb's cock throbs in response.

Successfully interacting with Jim is like navigating a minefield, Seb knows this. Above anything, he likes to be in control.

“Sorry,” Seb says, not entirely sincere.

Jim presses his lips together thinly and quirks them, a strangely reptilian imitation of a smile. He strokes his fingers along the underside of Seb's jaw, down his throat until they rest carefully on his adam's apple. Seb swallows.

“I know,” Jim coos, and backhands Seb so hard that he tumbles backwards onto the hardwood floor, where he is quickly straddled by his friend. Despite his relatively small frame, Jim knows how to throw his weight about and pins Seb to the floor, sitting on his thighs and gripping his fingers tightly in his short hair, forcing his head back. He leans forward, rocking his weight, and Seb pushes his hips up uselessly into thin air as Jim rests his teeth on the smooth column of his throat, just hard enough to sting. Seb breathes shallowly. It's typical alpha dog behaviour, literally, and there is nothing he can do but wait it out.

Eventually Jim loosens his bite and draws back a little, licking one long line from Seb's throat to his chin, which he sucks lightly before sitting back, looking contemplative. He carefully unbuttons the top two buttons of Seb's shirt, pulling his tie down and out the way. The process is slowed slightly by the gloves, but Seb knows he won't remove them. He brushes a leather clad thumb along the smooth curve of Seb's exposed collarbone before trailing his fingers back up his throat. He rests two fingers on Seb's lower lip for a moment before sliding them into his mouth. The leather is warm and feels thick and expensive. He splays his fingers over Seb's tongue, sliding around and under it. Seb sucks on them lightly as he pulls them out and shifts his hands to Seb's shoulders, where he leans for a moment as he slides himself down, resting fully in Seb's lap. He can't help but breathe out heavily through his nose as he cants his hips up into the warm, welcome pressure. Jim watches him, detached and dispassionate.

He rolls his hips slowly, and Seb can _feel_ that he's hard, even if his face shows nothing. His fingers slide over the rounded curve of Jim's knees and rest just on his thighs. Jim slides his hand from Seb's chest and reaches behind him, but Seb is quickly distracted as Jim leans down onto his elbow, bringing his face close to Seb's. Their lips almost brush, and Seb is fighting the urge to close the gap when cool metal brushes his face. He rolls his eyes to try and identify the object before his gaze snaps back to Jim's cold one as he slides the barrel of a handgun between his lips.

“I've said it before,” Jim says, and his voice is cold, “I'll kill you. I won't hesitate if I have to. Don't think I won't. Not even for you.”

Seb nods tersely, and the metal clicks against his teeth, tangy against his tongue. Despite the deadly weapon currently in his mouth by his boss and best friend, Seb is still hard, and God, is he fucked. This whole situation is fucked. Jim reads something in his face, as he slides back until he is sitting upright, head tilted to one side.

“No?” he says, and Seb doesn't even know what he's asking. He slides the gun from his mouth slowly and, holding it between them, cocks it. The noise of the bullet falling into place in the chamber of the gun makes Seb's heart leap.

“I'm not afraid,” Jim says, and he sounds wild. He points the gun towards himself, tipping his hand backwards, and slides his own mouth over the barrel. He takes it in down to the trigger, lips stretched obscenely around the metal, his eyes blazing. Seb can't help it; he groans and pushes up into Jim's heavy weight. It's just a game to Jim, he knows it is; he doesn't care about life, or death, he doesn't get frightened in the way that normal people do. It's what makes him dangerous.

Jim pulls the gun from his mouth and throws it carelessly across the room, making Seb flinch. It skids harmlessly across the floor, and Jim reaches between them and slides his palm across the bulge in Seb's trousers. He bucks up helplessly as Jim's fingers rub at him mercilessly, rough enough to be painful. His hand moves quickly, and it all builds too fast.

“Don't--” Seb starts, and Jim's eyes flash at someone daring to give him orders. He slaps his free hand across Seb's mouth, restricting his air intake, and Seb digs his heels into the floor as he arches and comes, spilling hotly into his trousers. Jim coaxes him through it, clever fingers moving until Seb is hissing and tossing his head, over sensitive.

Jim watches the dark, wet patch spread across the front of Seb's trousers with a mild look of disdain before he pushes himself off, standing up. He straightens his suit before looking back down at Seb, who has pushed himself up on to his elbows.

“If it happens again, I won't give you warning,” he says, coldly. “See yourself out.”

He strides away from Seb, who lets himself fall back to the wooden floor with a painful crack, and begins to evaluate where his life went seriously wrong.

As punishments go, however, it could have been far worse.


End file.
